always
by ohlookrandom
Summary: everyday, she waits- and instead he walked away. inspired by 'always' by Peter Bradley Adams! Oneshot.


ASDFGHJK school. Sorry for the long delays between stories. This is actually something I wrote a while back. Inspired by 'Always' by Peter Bradley Adams. The man is a genius. Go check him out. If you like mellow, acoustic sort of music, of course. But you should just check him out anyway because mellow songs are nice once in a while.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon.. or Peter Bradley Adams.. speaking of which, I know what I want for my birthday now. :)

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><p><em>You can break them down,<em>

_With your highs and lows._

_But she's familiar with the sound,_

_The sound you make_

_Everytime you go._

There are always whispers circulating in the towns of the region Kanto. The whispers are the same, never changing, rumors running around saying that the Champion is tired, the Champion needs to come down, the Champion will be coming down this summer- or the next- or the season after that- and you would think that after the fifth summer, the old rumor would finally stop. But it never does, and it has become an urban legend now.

The denizens of Pallet Town have stopped listening, as well. Those who were old enough to remember the Champion in his youthful, exuberant days now remember him in a distant haze. They see him through sepia-tinted memories, yellowed with fondness and tinged with nostalgic and wistful tugging at the heart. Newcomers to Pallet's sleepy town don't take long to hear about this ghost, this shadow of a boy that still enthralls the quiet citizens. Sometimes, if they are lucky, they glimpse his companions, the ones who treat him as someone close to their hearts. Sometimes if they're lucky, they'll catch the Viridian Gym Leader, silently packing a spare bag with supplies; sometimes they'll catch a glimpse of a tiny figure in a straw hat disappearing into the thick foliage of the Viridian forest bordering Pallet. More often than not, it's a vivacious con artist they'll meet, someone who they will not begin to understand until their wallets have been stolen multiple times.

If those newcomers went to the right person and played their cards right, they would hear more stories about this invisible ghost, the main protagonist of all these stories. They might hear about Team Rocket, and how he destroyed their team with help from his friends; maybe they might even hear about the time he was turned into stone while trying to save a mystical Pokemon. And maybe, with the stories, they might understand the fact that the Viridian Gym Leader isn't the only Gym Leader the ghost on Mount Silver is attached to. No, the Cerulean Gym Leader knows much more than she lets on, the whispers go.

_Always,_

_Always she waits for you._

She is cagey, of course. The Gym Leaders never kiss and tell- not in Kanto, at least. The Cerulean Gym Leader, especially, would sooner battle and crush her opponents than let anyone in on her little secret. Yet it doesn't take much for someone new to figure out where she stands in this entire life story of the quiet ghost. Anyone could describe how she grew up with him- not grew up exactly, but she moved up the ranks of power at the same time he began to grow more powerful. And they knew each other. That much is obvious, and she will never deny it. What she _will_ deny is how she still loves him. _Him? No_, she'll laugh, her wide blue eyes sparkling like the badge she so rarely hands out. _I loved him like a brother_.

If they stay long enough with her, newcomers will recognize the signs of a bad liar. The way she swallows before she says his name, the way she pauses before recounting a story about the both of them together, the way her hands automatically go to the small red earrings on her right ear when she's telling a story about him- all these are motions that give her away. One can't help but feel sorry for her- always waiting, always patiently holding out for someone who might not be coming back.

_You've been away too long,_

_But she will choose to believe._

_And her heart is so strong,_

_It's strong enough,_

_If only you could see-_

She always pretends not to know how long she's been away from him. _Five years, really_? It's always the same question, the newcomers might note if they compared notes with each other- she always uses the same skeptical tone, the same innocent lift of the voice at the end of the question. _I hadn't noticed_. And perhaps the newcomers might not recognize her blatant lie, but her friends- and by default, his friends, since they run in the same circles- understand that this is her way of coping, this is her way of telling them that she is alright, this is her way of keeping the pain at bay. Maybe if she doesn't acknowledge it, maybe it won't be true.

So they worry, of course, when for the first time she disappears. She is not the sort of person to simply vanish without a trace, like the ghost of Pallet Town. She will always leave a note- but not this time. One day, she is battling trainers; the next, she is gone, and the Gym is locked.

It is her Pewter City counterpart who finds her later, tiredly coming down from the foot of Mount Silver, and he understands. _He isn't there_. It's a statement, not a question, and her nod is enough of an answer.

Her eyes are tired, weary; her footsteps drag as she uses the last vestiges of her energy to pull herself into a chair that her friend offers. _I looked all over_, she tells him, and he marvels at how her voice does not crack with anger, or misery. She is a shell, tough. _I couldn't find him. _

Her friends don't know what to say for ages afterwards.

What she never tells anyone is that she has a picture, buried in the snow outside a cave. It is a picture dating back to happier days, where a red-eyed boy is distinctly shorter than a short-haired redhead. Both smile goofily at the camera, even though both of them are making gestures behind each others' backs like teenagers are wont to do; in the background a brown-haired green-eyed boy is discussing something with a tiny blonde girl. She does not understand how the picture got there, or why it was buried under snow- she cannot begin to understand where he is, or where he might have gone, or why he left in the first place- she misses him terribly, even though she will never say it aloud. He is always running, the whispers finish; a free spirit can never be tied down to the same place.

She is tired of waiting. She is tired of listening to the same whispers over and over. But she can do nothing but wait, because what can one do when listening is the only thing you can remember a ghost by? So the stories continue, and she continues to cope by staying where she is. Even vagabonds need to return home someday, she reasons. _Someday._

_Everyday she waits,_

_And instead you walk away._

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><p>As always, reviews are greatly welcomed! You guys have been pretty much amazing :)<em><br>_


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